


The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet

by OreoCheesecake



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Hogwarts, Humor, M/M, Slow Build, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9003898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OreoCheesecake/pseuds/OreoCheesecake
Summary: Percival Graves has hit rock bottom: his reputation is shot, his auror career is finished and he's resigned himself to teaching Defense Against Dark Arts in a shoddy foreign school where everyone hates him and seemingly everything is trying to kill him. He has a lot of complaints... For some reason, the main one being that he isn't currently banging the Care of Magical Creatures professor.





	

_Percival,_

_Word on the street is you've been single so long that your virginity grew back. It truly is a shame that I had just the person for you, except he was in New York when you happened to be out._

(Trust Theseus to word it as if he had simply gone on vacation at the time, rather than being held captive for months on end by a megalomaniac).

_What a stroke of bad luck, eh? The person I'm talking about, of course, is my little brother. You scoff, but don't worry, he's nothing like me -- he's set foot around the whole world but his heart is untouched by cruelty. And by that I mean he's totally your type. You need someone to help you become less grumpy._

_In all seriousness, I hope you meet him someday. Newton is truly something else. Absolutely infuriating, he'll make you want to tear your hair out. But give him a day and you'll fall for him. Seriously. You need someone like him, Percival._

_Don't forget to tell me all about your first day at Hogwarts. I want to hear every detail. Don't hold back._

_-Theseus  
_

\--

It was five in the afternoon, and as he watched the rolling hills of England's countryside zipping past him, Percival Graves dared to think that perhaps he hadn't made such a terrible mistake after all.

It was a fleeting thought that lasted approximately two seconds, because at that point a witch suddenly burst into his compartment to bellow at him.

"Anything from the trolley?"

"Do you have coffee?" He asked. All he received was a blank look in return. 

"Sweets only, dear," she said. Graves shook his head and she left to presumably accost more people who were in the midst of enjoying their privacy. This day was turning out to be miserable already. He hadn't even taught his first class yet and he was already concerned for his students' healths -- more particularly, their blood sugar levels. The train ride was a couple of hours long and apparently in places like Hogwarts it was deemed a good idea to stuff their students full of candy before delivering them to school.

The Hogwarts Express continued chugging along, roaring and taking one very disgruntled ex-auror with it. Graves wondered what was going on back at MACUSA, thousands of miles away. They were probably celebrating, glad to finally be rid of him. All the jokes made at his expensive could now be yelled freely rather than whispered. Percival Graves, former Head of Magical Security, had at last scampered off to Europe, having never lived down the shame of being caught by Grindelwald.

Not the narrative he would've chosen, but to some extent, he begrudgingly admitted that there was truth to it. The incident had taken place a full three years ago. Grindelwald had been jailed, and he returned to his desk the next morning, all business.

Not much had changed while he was incapacitated. When he came back, he had foolishly expected that everything would return to normal. 

It didn't. 

First came the demotion. Picquery hadn't called it such, of course, but she recommended a different position, "at least temporarily", while they sorted out that mess. Until now, Abernathy was still Head of Magical Security. Whereas Graves never did get his office back, his whiskey collection growing more valuable by the day.

 

So he threw himself into his cases, filling up the cells to maximum capacity. But the damage had been done. He couldn't recall how many suspects had laughed right in his face, had dubbed him washed up. Finished. No one was afraid of MACUSA anymore, they claimed, all thanks to him. Any idiot could walk into Woolworth and call themselves an auror, and everyone would believe it.

One owl later, and he was portkeying over the pacific. Dread had carved out a permanent space for itself somewhere in his ribcage.

Now he was sharing a compartment with a stranger, on the way to Hogwarts, having accepted a post for the position of Defense Against Dark Arts professor. And his only companion was a person he half-feared would never wake up.

Graves massaged his temples and studied the figure laying down across him, curled up on the seat and clutching a suitcase to his chest. He wondered if Hogwarts students robbed each other a lot. Why else would this person be so paranoid? He had been asleep since Graves had entered, and until now, was completely dead to the world.

Graves wished he at least had his whiskey.

Much of the boy was covered in a blue coat, and his shaggy red hair concealed most of his face. But from what soft features Graves could discern, he seemed young. Probably a 7th year. Though what graduating Hogwarts student wouldn't have found a group of friends at this point?

Perhaps, like Graves, something had happened to make him a pariah.

He hated feeling sorry for himself. Yet here he was, already Hogwarts' bitterest professor alive. Theseus, he thought, must be laughing his head off just imagining this moment.

He stewed in his own misgivings until the train finally halted hours later, when the windows showed nothing but black and the flickering lights made his headache worse.

Graves stood up to retrieve his trunk overhead. In the process, he eyed the sleeping figure, not quite sure if he was supposed to wake him up. Was he allowed to hand out punishments this early, he wondered. Because at Ilvermorny, this guy would've been drowning in detention sentences by now. He was running late and probably violating whatever dress code the school had.

When he set down his baggage, the boy woke with a start.

"Merlin's beard," he murmured, sitting up so fast that he visibly winced. The coat was askew, covering half a shoulder, and Graves watched bemusedly as the younger male rubbed his eyes and realized he had company.

He stood up. The compartment was tiny, so he was practically chest-to-chest with Graves, staring at him with wide green eyes. He backed up again, nearly falling back on the bench. His already pale skin got even paler. And then he blinked, and his gaze flickered downward. "I am terribly sorry," he stammered, kneading his coat with scratched up knuckles. 

"Oh god, I can't believe I slept through the entire ride again. I was supposed to let Maya free so she could have her first post-molt flight after being cooped up in my suitcase for so long." None of that made any sense whatsoever to Graves. Suddenly it wasn't so surprising that this person was completely alone.

"I'll go now." Scampering toward the door with his case and his coat, the boy turned back to Graves briefly, and struggled to shift both items to one hand. "Um." Graves arched an eyebrow as he watched the unusual display. Halfway through trying to offer his hand for Graves to shake, the boy appeared to abort this plan and nodded at him instead. The doors hissed open and he took off.

"What the hell was that," Graves muttered to himself. Rude and disorganized, not a great first impression to make on one's professor.

He stepped off the train and saw swarms of short figures in black following a round-faced, rosy-cheeked man carrying a lantern. "This way, this way! Four to a boat, I repeat, strictly four to a boat and try not to push each other into the lake!" The man looked his way and flashed him a grin, as if expecting him to laugh. He forced out a smile and nodded.

"Percival Graves?" Someone spoke, and Graves spun around. 

"Yes?" There was a hitch in his breath, frustration at being caught by surprise. A pathetic thought struck him, his jaw clenching: little things like this was why he could no longer be an auror. A broad-shouldered man with dark, cropped hair and long black robes greeted him with an odd smile that didn't mesh well with his otherwise stern features. He had his wand out, raising it unusually high as if he was brandishing a baseball bat. The lumos highlighted the shadows under his eyes.

"My name is Elan Hopfink, Ancient Runes professor." Based on his tone, he would probably stamp that title on every single of one of his possessions if he could. "Headmaster Dippet personally asked me to retrieve you." He looked and acted every bit like the role of a professor: tightly-wound and devoid of any passion. And it is for that reason that Graves found himself disliking this man immediately.

"Nice to meet you."

They shook hands and set off, Graves following Hopfink into the dark. A carriage was waiting for them on a dirt road, attached to black horse-like creatures that pawed the ground and huffed impatiently. Up ahead, the trail led to a foggy silhouette of a castle. 

Graves stared, bemused. Thestrals. How macabre. Chariots of death to transport schoolchildren. This was seeming more and more like an Edgar Allan Poe poem rather than the fairytale all British wizards claimed Hogwarts to be.

They climbed in and the carriage lurched forward. Hopfink looked around at him, his smile straining further. He wasted no time in increasing Graves' already great dislike for him by opening his mouth. "When they said you were going to be teaching Defense Against Dark Arts, I thought it was a joke."

He had no idea how to respond to that other than with a series of hexes. "Oh?"

"I mean -- ironic, isn't it? Clearly your defenses are far from stellar, yet these are the flawed methods you're going to be passing down to our students."

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He could still turn back, Graves urged himself. It would at least thrill Picquery to have him beg for his job back. The New York Ghost could mine his desperation for weeks on end, like they did his downfall. Anything was better than staying in this hellhole with professors like Hopfink.

"You should at least check my syllabus before making any hasty judgments about my teaching abilities, Professor." 

Hopfink snorted. "I'm only joking, of course," he said with a chuckle.

"Ha," Graves murmured, and resigned himself to spending the rest of their awkward trip in complete silence.

\--

They stopped in front of the gates, which opened with a nefarious creak. Graves and Hopfink alighted from the carriage, Hopfink looking ridiculous with his wand hand held high above his head. "Someone else will deliver your belongings to your quarters. This way," Hopfink said imperiously, leading him through what appeared to be a side entrance and opened into a stone corridor. It was sparsely illuminated with torches hanging off the walls. Graves wrinkled his nose at the medieval atmosphere of it all. Could Hogwarts not afford a better lighting budget? 

After wandering half-blind through a series of hallways, they slipped into the Great Hall, entering from the corner behind the stage. At least he could finally see again, Graves remarked inwardly, and glanced at the four long tables encompassing most of the room. A sea of black greeted him, but various colorful House accessories made the distinctions clear.

A lot of young faces turned to look at him before starting hushed conversations with their neighbors. He didn't see the seventh year boy in the crowd, briefly wondering if he had somehow gotten lost. 

"Professor Graves?" A raspy voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to face Armando Dippet. The Hogwarts headmaster was unmistakeable, with a long scraggly beard that went down to his chest. it seemed to be the only thing keeping him from drowning in the maroon of his flowing robes. 

With a courteous handshake, he greeted the one person responsible for his being here. "Headmaster, thank you very much for this opportunity," he said with a brisk smile. The elder man simply hummed, his frail hand wrapped in Graves', who was doing most of the shaking.

"I trust you're enjoying yourself so far, Percival?"

"It's definitely been interesting meeting some of our esteemed colleagues," he replied, glancing over to Hopfink. The professor was already making his way to the far end of the long table that was positioned behind the lectern.

"So you have." The headmaster excused himself to go make a welcome speech, but not before offering Graves one of the empty chairs at the faculty table. He sat down, and found himself flanked by two men: one of them was undoubtedly Albus Dumbledore. The auburn hair and crescent-shaped glasses were a dead give away. The other was the rosy-cheeked male who had led the first years to the boats.

"Horace Slughorn, Potions Professor," he introduced himself as, scrutinizing Graves up and down. "Of course, we're all familiar with you. You were a great auror, despite, ah, some hiccups." _Were_. Graves stiffened. He wanted to splinch himself at this point. "Pray tell, how's Seraphina Picquery? I looked up to her when we were younger, you know. Gifted woman, everyone knew she would end up brilliant -- she was interested in my proposition for a Draught of Selective Invisibility..." He pattered on and on, even as Dippet was giving his speech. Graves could only nod absently.

The sorting soon started, students lining up in front of a ratty pointed hat. Graves was accustomed to the much more ceremonial sorting system at Ilvermorny -- everyone both dreaded and dreamed of one day standing in the middle of the seal and having houses decide whether you were worthy. Compared to that, taking turns to try on a talking hat seemed rather underwhelming.

"How do they qualify for their respective houses?"

"Qualify?" Slughorn laughed, nearly spilling his water. Graves waited for him to compose himself. Already he had two fellow professors he felt like jinxing on a daily basis. Great. "Oh, no. We don't do any of that here. You're sorted based on character traits: bravery for Gryffindor, loyalty for Hufflepuff, intelligence for Ravenclaw and cunning for Slytherin. Lineage can play a part as well, but in the end you can also choose what house you want in, if there's a particular one you prefer."

Graves arched an eyebrow, watching the hat croak "Hufflepuff!". A blond student hopped down from the stool and joined her house, but from the way everyone at the table applauded, you'd think she'd just slain a giant. He shook his head. So much ceremony over something that could essentially be boiled down to nepotism and a simple sign-up sheet.

"Before we begin supper," Dippet said, resuming his place behind the lectern. "I have a few announcements. First of all, I would like to welcome on the behalf of the faculty, the school, and all England, our new Defense Against Dark Arts professor, Percival Graves."

Graves knew it was his cue to stand , so he did. Students craned their necks to look at him and the whispers started anew. He quickly sat down, thinking ruefully of how much longer this night would take. Hopefully his sleeping quarters would at least be decent.

"And secondly, I would like to give the floor to our Care of Magical Creatures professor Newt Scamander, as he has a few words of his own to share."

"Newt Scamander?" Graves muttered under his breath. Suddenly, the night had taken a surprising turn. That bastard Theseus had never once mentioned that his brother had come here to teach; he had always gone on and on about Newt gallivanting to every corner of the globe. Things were starting to make sense. His eyes narrowed. Beside him, Albus grinned.

"Ah, our dearest Newt," Albus murmured. Graves did not know if it was a stab at conversation or if he was merely talking to himself out loud. The older man was chuckling, though it did not at all sound like Hopfink's forced laughter. His was warm and genuine.

"Professor Scamander?" Dippet repeated, looking around the hall.

"I'm here!" A shaky voice piped up, one of the side doors banging open. In walked the man from the train, his hair somehow even more unkempt than earlier. The blue coat and case were gone, and he ambled up to the stage looking very out-of-place among the robed faculty, wearing slacks haphazardly tucked into knee-high boots, paired with a white shirt and mustard-colored vest.

Graves stared as Newt took Dippet's place, his back turned to him. Traces of smoke where emanating from a singed spot on his vest. He wrinkled his nose, several conflicting emotions arising at once. How had he not known it was Newt?

"You two have quite the connection, I heard," came Albus' playful tone. Graves nodded, his throat dry.

"In a way," he replied with a hardened expression.

Three years ago, he awoke from a deep sleep to find out that Theseus' brother had been the reason for his rescue. That despite never having met, the magizoologist had figured out that the Graves at MACUSA was an imposter, something his long-time colleagues had never suspected. Perhaps it was early as then that the seeds of distrust had been planted between them, that despite his return, he was never going to last. Because Graves had vanished, and no one cared about him well enough to notice; and from their points of view, his absence hadn't changed a thing.

Perhaps that was proof that he ought to have left MACUSA much sooner.

Newt had started rambling about various animals he had found in the castle, amidst the snickering of some students. Graves gazed at him in disbelief. He would never have guessed that Theseus, who spoke at howler-level volumes and seemed to exist to take as much space as possible and annoy as many people as he could, could be releated to this mousy, twitchy man. Theseus was all hard lines and jagged planes; Newt was soft, his voice shaky, and stood hunched over the lectern, his posture suggesting he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Theseus, with his ragged war-torn body, while Newt... Despite somehow being the more adventurous one, looked frail. And he had _freckles_. Graves had needed to cast a complex levitation to get Theseus off the battlefield. Whereas Newt, he probably could've carried with one arm. 

He inwardly wondered why he'd just entertained that image.

"I'm also happy to announce that the Great Lake is no longer off-limits," Newt said, his voice increasing with confidence. Apparently he had moved on to discussing the various creatures that could be found outside on Hogwarts grounds. "Martha has finally adapted to her new habitat. I think you'll find her quite friendly, even playful. She has a fondness for toast, in case you want to feed her. Fruits are fine also. Anything with bones is a no-no."

Graves had to suppress a grin as he witnessed some of the first years share frantic looks. 

"Endearing, isn't he?" Albus said.

"Quite."

"...But aside from that, the Forbidden Forest is still off-limits as I have yet to finish mapping about forty percent of it. Based on my research, there are at least two hundred thirty-eight species residing within; roughly a third of them are venomous, fifty-six species are carnivorous, and three can set you on fire through eye contact alone. So, er, stay away. If you're curious about the beasts, you can always come to me so I can establish a proper space wherein you can meet them."

How questionable, Graves noted, to erect a school right next to a forest filled with so many things that could kill you. He didn't understand Hogwarts at all.

Dinner was served after Newt's speech. An array of English dishes sprouted from the plates before his eyes. Graves peered around, a pang of homesickness hitting him for the first time. The food was unrecognizable. He sighed. While MACUSA he could easily get over, American food was a different matter entirely. He found himself craving a burger, a warm bed, and for some reason, a chance to be able to speak with Newt alone.

\--

In Ilvermorny, teachers that decided to live on campus were given their own houses, located a Floo's distance away from school grounds.

At Hogwarts, Graves' quarters opened directly into the classroom where he would be teaching. He supposed he would have to get used to strolling out of his bedroom to be greeted by rickety desks and tables strewn about a dusty room.

He sighed, and cast a cleaning charm (did this place not have janitors?) followed by a simple organizing spell to arrange the furniture into neat rows. Luckily for him, his classroom wasn't far from the Great Hall. He was prepared to head there for breakfast when he was ambushed upon walking out into the hallway.

Newt Scamander was leaning against the wall, red-faced and staring at him as if he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't have. He was carrying a box in both hands. Rather than explaining what he was doing there, he continued to shift his weight on either leg, the silence growing longer between them.

"Newt Scamander?" Graves eventually said.

"Professor Graves!" With a sharp exhale, Newt stepped forward. His messy hair fell over his eyes like tattered curtains, and Graves had an inexplicable urge to reach out and push the wayward locks out of the way. "I-- Dumbledore asked me to give you a tour. I brought muffins," he added hastily, as if Graves would've refused otherwise.

"We can have breakfast by the lake after I show you around the castle?"

Graves eyed him, figuring he probably had his reasons for wishing to ignore their meeting on the train. "Lead the way, then," he said. Newt's gaze shifted to the scorpion tie bar, and then back to Graves' face. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, before biting his lip and simply nodding. Graves had a sinking feeling that he was going to spend hours simply struggling to further a conversation with Newt. He could feel the headache forming already.

They strolled down the corridor, Newt gripping the box of muffins with the same fierce protectiveness he showed toward the suitcase the other day. Graves wrinkled his nose at the grimy walls. He couldn't help it, coming from the palace-like Ilvermorny. Politely, he kept his crueler observations to himself.

Newt didn't seem interested in showing him around. Either that, or there simply wasn't much to show in the first place. "That's the Transfiguration classroom," he would say. "Or was it Charms? No, Transfiguration, I was right the first time. Once we round the corner, we'll arrive at the Gryffindor common room -- sorry, I mean Ravenclaw." His commentary wasn't helpful in the slightest. Graves' lip curled, and he felt a pang of irritation. Maybe Dumbledore had sent Newt as a prank? Maybe this was some sort of strange hazing ritual to ensure that Graves would never learn how to get around the castle.

A loud clanging sound killed the monotony for a few seconds, before a line of suits of armor that were cluttering the hallway shook, one teetering and then crashing into another, which induced a domino effect.

"Peeves," Newt said sheepishly. Graves figured it was useless to even ask what that meant.

They made a full round of the floor and arrived at a staircase. Portraits around them moved animatedly. Finally, he thought, a part of the castle that wasn't so dreary and un-magical. Newt descended ahead of him and he followed.

As Newt was reaching the final step, there was an unexpected movement and a rumbling sound. Graves jerked to the side as the staircase detached from the landing and swung sideways. He grabbed the banister, but Newt, with his arms full, couldn't react as quickly.

"Oh!" Newt exclaimed, toppling forward. Before he could fall into the chasm below, Graves instinctively grabbed him by the waist and hauled him back. Newt was still frozen and was quite unwilling to regain his balance. As a result, his full weight hit Graves, his back bumping against Graves' chest to be exact, as the two fell backward on the steps. Graves hissed in pain as he landed quite awkwardly, sitting on one step while his back pressed against the edges of three more. While Newt's legs had given up entirely and the magizoologist found himself settled in Graves' lap.

"The staircases move," Newt explained. Yes, Graves could see that, but the bigger issue here was not the staircase transporting them to who knows where, but the fact that a certain someone was settled on his lap, ass comfortably pressed against his groin like it belonged there. And that certain someone happened to be a person he had mistaken for a student not more than a day ago, as well as the same person who was coincidentally, the younger brother of a close friend. And that certain someone, to top it all off, was the strangest person Graves had come across, and was the reason for his worsening migraine. In fact, 'strangest' was an understatement in this case, which was saying something, since Graves was previously in the business of associating with strange people.

"Do they move according to your desired location?" He asked, but he could not hide the strained tone of his voice. For some reason, he could also not remove his hands from Newt's hips. Because the stairs were still moving, and if he let go, he had a feeling Newt would end up falling to his death. Ten minutes with Newt and the man had already almost gotten himself killed in a school he's been familiar with since he was a child.

"No," Newt said, twisting in his grip. He turned his head and looked at Graves, a reddish hue on his cheeks. His eyes a striking shade of green. His ass still firmly planted on Graves' lap. "Just... Randomly. There are certain patterns, but no one's really..."

"Wouldn't that delay a lot of students who just want to get to class on time?" Graves babbled. There was an inexplicable urge to keep talking, because if Newt was going to ignore their position, then part of him was determined to as well.

"Um," Newt said.

"Or wouldn't students make that an excuse, claiming they were thirty minutes late to Charms because of a wild staircase?"

 

"That's just how it is here." His expression turned sad, and he looked at Graves wryly. "Nothing like Ilvermorny, is it?"

"Not even remotely." And for whatever reason, words he had never considered before were rolling out through his lips. "Hogwarts is a lot more exciting," he suddenly added.

"I see," Newt said, and fell quiet. But Graves noticed that he now looked visibly pleased.

Tne staircase, he discovered, had stopped moving for quite some time, as they were attached to a different landing now. Newt wriggled out of Graves' lap (he quickly released Newt and stuffed his hands into his pockets) and stood, Graves following suit. 

"Next time, just let go of the damn box," he said gruffly.

"But these muffins are _special_ ," Newt argued, his expression utterly forlorn. Graves massaged his temples. Yes, they might have been special, but certainly not as special as the person standing in front of him. He felt uncomfortably hot, the hardness in his pants (which was inevitable after all that friction) thankfully concealed under his robes. He wished Newt was slightly more normal, in the way that he would wear robes too, because maybe then, Graves would not have felt the firmness of Newt's ass against his length. And he would not be standing in another ugly corridor sporting an ill-timed erection less than twenty-four hours after having arrived at his new place of employment.

Graves looked at Newt, whose face displayed the epitome of confusion. He clearly did not know where they were, and as such he was oblivious to the internal war waging in Graves, a frustrated half of him screaming _'holy shit this guy is so utterly clueless it's annoying',_ but the other half's main counter-argument being _'but his ass felt really good against my dick'_. 

He therefore concluded that this school was trying to kill him, in more ways than one.


End file.
